Leaving Thoughts
by Elaine5
Summary: Niles's POV after Daphne starts dating Donny


Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and since I have no money a claim would be seriously counter-productive.

Author's Notes: This is more of a ficlet, told from Niles's POV after Donny and Daphne started dating.

Feedback: would be cherished. Send to solitudeperfection@yahoo.com.

To Mike: Because of Wednesday and Thursday.  Love E.

Leaving Thoughts.

By Elaine

I should leave.

I really mean it. I should leave. In fact, I'm sitting here at home; curled up under my piano wondering why I should stay.

I know why I should stay. She's the reason I should. The reason that I want to stay. But I can't. Not anymore. Not while she's dating somebody else. Not while my divorce to Maris is the reason that she is so happy. 

I had 7 years to tell her how I felt. Ok, in reality I only had 2. But 2 years to tell Daphne Moon that I love her, that I am in love with her. But I didn't. And now I can't. The reason: she's dating my divorce lawyer. Donny Douglas. Go ahead. Laugh. I did. Until I started crying. Until I realised what I have lost.

So I'm still sitting underneath my piano. I don't think I've moved since I saw them in Cafe Nervosa three days ago. And my suitcase is still upstairs, lying open, empty on my bed: taunting me. It would be so easy to throw everything into it and leave. I don't know where I would go, but anywhere is better than Seattle. Anywhere is better than the demon that keeps circling my head telling me what I have lost, telling me what I never had to begin with.

It's strange, but being a psychiatrist, people always talk about respect. Frasier has respect. He has a successful radio show and despite my beliefs in his "McSessions" I know that he really tries to make a difference. His show is regularly nominated and has won many awards. How can I compete with that? Should I? Could I really walk the same path as Frasier? Walk in my brother's shadow for the rest of my life? I don't know. I just wish I did.

Then there is Dad. Dad has loads of respect: not just from me and Frasier, but from the wider community. He was a cop for over 20 years and not even being shot stopped him from getting on with his life. I'm sitting underneath a piano too scared to face the outside world because I didn't tell the woman I love that I am in love with her. Respect. That's not even a word people use when describing me.

Or maybe it's because I'm too scared of what people would say if they really did know me. If they broke down the 17 barriers that I put up to protect me from the outside world. Daphne did. Daphne tore down 10 of them without even realising it just by simply saying 'Hello.' I never knew she had until I got home and realised how I acted around her. Realised that I had left myself exposed: vulnerable.

Yet she never acted on it. If she thought something was strange, she never said anything. Never has. Not even up to now.  I thought-I hoped- that she would be the person to see something else. See another Niles Crane. Because when I look in the mirror, I don't see a successful 43 year old man, I see a 14 year old, pre-pubescent boy-man staring back at me. Sometimes I don't even see that. Sometimes I just see a 'thing' looking back. A stranger who inhabits this body as a facade to the outside world.

I run a successful practice, but everyday I wake up with a nagging doubt that I am going to fail. I've felt this way since I stopped being an intern and went into proper practice. I have a degree from Yale University, yet I still believe I'm going to fail. I still believe someone is going to expose me for the fraud that I am, and the worst thing is:  I would believe them. I would walk away from something I love doing because I have ruined somebody else's life. Because I'm a superfluous cog in a practice that I have been a member of for 10 years. And because I know any psychiatrist could do my job, and arguably with a smaller pay packet. So why I am still there? Why has no-one realised that I shouldn't be? Why hasn't anyone came to the realisation that I made about 20 years ago: 

I am not what anybody wants.

The adrenaline is running through me now. It's frightening to see in black and white what my subconscious-and my conscious- has admitted for so many years. I'm going to move. I'm going to leave. Right now. Tonight. See, I'm moving now. I'm going to go and throw everything into the empty suitcase on my bed. I really don't care about work. I'm sure they could cope without me, and it wouldn't be long until they found someone else.

Maybe I should tell Frasier. He's one of the few people who really knows how I feel about Daphne. Ok, in reality most people know.  In fact, I'm surprised the local booking agent isn't taking bets. Depending on which side of the fence you sit, you could probably make a lot of money from me. Frasier deserves to know. Dad deserves to know. They deserve to know that their youngest brother and youngest son is going to leave town.

I've just realised something. I'm driving over to Frasier's to tell him that I'm going to leave town, but the only reason why  I should stay is probably sitting in his apartment. Daphne is going to be there. I know she is. I can sense it: feel it. As long as she doesn't open the door, I'll be fine. As long as she doesn't smile at me and say "Hello" I'll be able to leave.

Do you know what is worse than not telling Daphne how I feel about her? The guilt. The guilt about feeling the way I do, knowing that I was married. The guilt about finding it really hard to look at her and lie to her all the time. The guilt about creating a facade that I know she has already broken down. It's strange. All the years I was married to Maris she never had my soul. Yet I gave it to Daphne on the first day that I met her. Now I have to decide whether to reclaim it, or let her keep it and let her do with it what she sees fit. It can't be any worse than the nightmares that keep replaying in my head. 

Maybe one day I'll be able to look her in the eye and say "Hello Daphne" and smile. Maybe one day I won't feel guilty, or useless, or insignificant. But now, I'm standing at the door to Frasier's apartment and praying to every single deity that she won't open the door. That she won't open it and destroy another barrier that I've created. Please. Not Daphne. Not her.

"Hello".


End file.
